The Royal Oak is a chocolate-box sort of village pub a short walk into Little Heaton, with a creamy rendering and red-tiled roof. A matching porch, held up by dark wooden beams, sits between two bay windows, providing a small shelter above the door. The interior of the pub is cosy, with low lighting and an open fire, though the latter isn’t currently in use as we’re in the midst of summer. There’s a long bar in the middle of the room, separating two distinct areas; the quieter, slightly darker area that is filled with worn tables and swirly patterned upholstered chairs is to the left, while the right side contains the pool table and fruit machines, their lights signalling fun times with a mesmerising dance. A karaoke machine is set out in this area and has already attracted a crowd of locals.
Alice, Archie and I have formed a cosy little trio, and we head to the bar, where two members of staff are looking rather startled at the influx of a dozen extra customers. Archie offers to get the first round in while Alice and I secure a table. We’re already perusing the karaoke catalogue to pick out our song choices by the time he brings the drinks over.
‘Do you fancy doing a duet?’ Alice asks as she runs a finger down the laminated page.
I nod and take a sip of the white wine Archie has just placed in front of me. ‘We used to do a mean Bananarama.’
‘I was thinking more Destiny’s Child.’ Alice takes a sip of her own drink as she continues to scan the catalogue. ‘Bananarama are fantastic fun, but if you want to be a bit more daring, then you can’t go wrong by channelling Beyoncé.’ Alice taps a song selection on the page. ‘How about “Bootylicious”?’
‘“Bootylicious”?’ I purse my lips as I consider the suggestion. It’s a good song – fun, sassy, energetic – but I can’t help thinking Alice is up to something. Because I know Alice. She’s plotting.
‘Maybe we should ask Carolyn to make up the trio,’ she says before wrinkling her nose. ‘Actually, scrap that. I love my sister to death, but she sounds like a strangled cat when she sings.’
‘So what?’ We’ve never taken karaoke seriously; we’ve sung everything from Chumbawamba’s ‘Tubthumping’ to Sonny and Cher’s ‘I Got You Babe’ (I was Sonny to Alice’s Cher). Karaoke isn’t about being the best singer, it’s about having the most fun.
‘I just think this could be your chance to shine.’ Alice picks up her glass, her eyes wandering to Archie and back as she takes a sip.
Of course. How could I have been so naïve? Now I get the ‘Bootylicious’ song choice; she wants me to get all arse-wiggly for Archie’s benefit. Now Twiggy is out of the way, she’s lining up his replacement. The onslaught isn’t in any danger of slowing down. If it isn’t Archie, it’ll be somebody else. Anybody else. Why couldn’t Twiggy have been real? She stopped with the Cupid nonsense when she believed I was into him.
Just a minute!
Light-bulb moment.
If Alice is under the impression I’ve found a potential suitor, she’ll leave me alone. Now, I can’t make one up – I tried that, and she won’t be satisfied until she’s met and vetted him – but what if I pretended to be interested in someone? Someone pleasant enough that they won’t annoy the hell out of me. Someone Alice deems appropriate. Someone like Archie…
‘Yeah.’ My head bobs up and down. ‘Okay. “Bootylicious” sounds fun.’ I fill in the little slip and hand it to the karaoke host before sinking my glass of Dutch courage (aka the not-too-bad house white).
‘It’s my round,’ I tell Archie, even though he still has three-quarters of a pint left. I rest my hand on his shoulder as I pass behind him, giving it a gentle squeeze. It’s nothing too flirtatious – I don’t want to alert Alice to my plan by coming on too strong too quickly. I head for the bar, where Tom is waiting to be served. He’s changed out of his gardening scruffs and is wearing a pair of nicely fitting jeans and a T-shirt that shows off the physical work he carries out daily.
‘You were invited along after all,’ I say as I stand next to him. I’m surprised he turned up, actually. From what I can gather, he isn’t one for joining in. Not any more, at least.
‘Nope.’ He thanks the barmaid as she places a pint in front of him. ‘Just came into my local for a quick pint and found it overrun with out-of-towners.’ He hands the money to the barmaid and takes a sip of his pint while I will the ground to open up and gobble me whole.
‘I’m sure there was some misunderstanding. I bet Carolyn assumed Alice had asked you to join us and vice versa.’
Tom holds up a hand. ‘It’s fine, really. It isn’t as though I’m a wedding guest. I’m just the gardener.’
‘That isn’t true. Alice and Carolyn were so excited when they realised you were here.’
Tom grunts and takes another sip of his pint.
‘I mean, they were a bit confused by your… lack of enthusiasm.’ I’m trying so hard not to put my foot in it again. ‘They thought you could all pick up where you left off last time. Or at least reminisce over your shared childhood.’
‘I’m really not in the mood for reminiscing.’ Tom takes the change from the barmaid and I place my order. When I turn back to continue our conversation, to tell him about the photos we’ve just looked at, I find he’s shuffled off to the other end of the bar.
The karaoke session begins, with a couple of locals kicking things off with their rather painful renditions of a Whitney classic and Adele. Alice and I are next up, and I throw myself into the performance, the glasses of wine I’ve poured down my throat enabling me to keep eye contact with Archie as I demonstrate my ‘bootyliciousness’. It isn’t easy displaying such bootyliciousness in a pair of jeans rather than something a bit slinkier, but I pull it off, in my slightly drunken opinion.
Ah, forget modesty. I am sexy as hell up there.
‘Blimey, Emily,’ Archie says once I’ve finished and plopped myself into my seat. ‘That was quite something.’
I bite my lip, hating myself a little bit as I do so. ‘A good something, or a bad something?’
Archie grins at me. ‘A good something. Definitely a good something.’
‘Excellent, because that’s exactly what I was aiming for.’ I wink at Archie and pick up my glass, but it’s empty. I give it a little jiggle and peer inside, but I’m in definite need of a top-up.
‘Let me.’ Archie takes the glass from me and I make a pathetic simpering sound at him.
I detest myself right now, but needs must.
One of the locals is currently taking her place at the karaoke screen, microphone in one hand, the other tugging at the hem of her skirt, which is so short, she’s in danger of flashing her Mary. She’s chosen to sing Miley Cyrus’s ‘Wrecking Ball’ and she’s pretty good. Obviously she isn’t as bootylicious as Alice and I, but the girl can sing.
‘What are you going to sing?’ I ask Archie when he returns with a fresh round of drinks.
‘Me?’ Archie shakes his head. ‘I don’t do karaoke.’
‘But it’s fun.’ I pout up at him, wondering – too late – if I’m laying it on a bit thick. ‘Why don’t we do a duet? That way, it takes the pressure off a bit.’
Archie squirms in his seat. ‘It really isn’t me.’
The above-par rendition of ‘Wrecking Ball’ comes to an end with rapturous applause and Carolyn takes her place by the karaoke screen. The intro to ‘My Heart Will Go On’ begins and Carolyn croons along. She is awful, bless her. Truly horrendous, but what she lacks in actual singing talent, she makes up for in confidence and she belts out those (nowhere-near-in-tune) notes like there’s no tomorrow. Her arm is outstretched, her face is displaying the utter heartache she is going through – if only for three minutes – as she tells us her woeful tale. She receives thunderous applause once she finishes and I’m enthusiastic with my response, hammering my palms on the tabletop in celebration of the wonderful performance. Carolyn gives a theatrical bow before she skips back to her seat.
‘You sound like a sack of drowning cats,’ I hear Alice say as she flings her arms around her sister. ‘But you’re bloody fantastic.’
‘Why, thank you.’ Carolyn tips an imaginary cap, not in the least put out by her sister’s judgement. ‘I think I’m going for a Mariah next.’ She picks up the catalogue and starts to leaf through it.
Best man Teddy is up next, giving a comical performance of Vic Reeves and The Wonder Stuff’s ‘Dizzy’, followed by a bridesmaid duo of ‘Islands in the Stream’. Another local gets up to have a go at a bit of Elvis – complete with gyrating hips and curled lip.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a go?’ I ask Archie. ‘We could get up together. Diana Ross and Lionel Richie? Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes? Peter Andre and Katie Price?’ Archie doesn’t look impressed by my suggestions. ‘Or how about a group song? That way you can hide at the back if you really hate it.’
Archie shakes his head firmly. ‘I don’t sing unless I’m in the shower. Alone.’
‘But everybody else is having a go.’ I turn to the karaoke area, where even Tom is about to have a turn. I’m so shocked, I almost fall off my stool.
‘Piers isn’t,’ Archie points out.
Piers isn’t even sitting with us any more. He’s at the bar, his back to the karaoke machine, as he fiddles with his phone.
‘Although he’d be up there if this was a competition,’ Archie says. ‘Piers is quite the competitor. If this was a contest, he’d be up there right now, giving it his best Sam Smith impression.’
As it isn’t, he’s being a miserable bugger. I get the not singing part – it isn’t everybody’s cup of tea – but to distance himself like this, even when his soon-to-be wife was giving it her all…
‘He wasn’t happy Carolyn banned him from taking part in the treasure hunt, in case people thought he had inside information.’
I snort. ‘In a family treasure hunt? Wouldn’t that be taking it a bit too far?’
Archie laughs. ‘You clearly haven’t experienced Piers’ competitiveness.’
I’m about to confirm as much, but the words die away as Tom starts to sing. And blimey, the boy can sing, even if he has chosen The Smiths’ ‘This Charming Man’, one of the most depressing songs known to man. I’d thought the Miley Cyrus fan was pretty good, but Tom is amazing. He’s wasted on those rosebushes and grass clippings. He should be up on stage, having knickers thrown at him.
Am I drunk enough to do that?
Nope, definitely not.
‘Go, Tom!’ I yell instead of whipping off my undies. I usually find The Smiths pretty gloomy, but I can get onboard with this charming man. My arms are in the air, swaying in time to the music – and I’m not the only one getting into the performance. Bridesmaid Thea has gone all swoony-eyed as she gazes up at Tom, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. Go Tom, indeed. Singing boy has earned himself an admirer.
‘Oh, sod it.’ Archie reaches for the catalogue sitting on the next table and starts to flick through. ‘Let’s have a go. I don’t want to be boring like Piers.’
I turn to smile my encouragement before turning back towards the performance.
Archie nudges me lightly with his elbow and points down at the catalogue when he has my attention again. ‘What are we singing then?’
‘You want to duet?’ I rub my hands together and grab the catalogue. ‘How do you fancy being Elton to my Kiki Dee?’